


Welcome To Funale.

by ElectricMarrow



Category: Galaxy Run
Genre: Clothes, Drugs, Funale, M/M, Party Planet, Sort Of, court is real sexy, dub con, help me, i hate this, jasmin and lukas are my fave minor characters, stoker is a real twink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricMarrow/pseuds/ElectricMarrow
Summary: All (well, except most of the dirty bits and boring stuff) that Stoker went through when stranded on Funale.





	1. Chapter One, in which Stoker does very little but be mad. Really, that's all that happens! Mostly.

**Author's Note:**

> Hold on to your hats.

Stoker Chaudfroid was very upset.

This was, naturally, a common side effect of falling through a mid-space tunnel; hurtling through a portal rapidly and heading straight towards who knows where.

It certainly doesn't help if this has been happening for over ten minutes.

Stoker, at this point, had worn out the entertaining ways of passing the time such as losing his lunch and screaming. Stoker, at this point, was in fact merely falling passively, knees clutched to his stomach. Swearing at an immortal businessman isn't quite as enjoyable if he's not around to hear you.

So, he was dropping, descending, plummeting, plunging, diving, and all the other synonyms for 'falling' that I never found by not bothering to look past the first search result.

Head spinning, hair flying in all directions, a couple loose pieces of lint still tumbling from his pocket.

Stoker was /incredibly/ irritated.

And all of this nonsense because the man he'd been strong-armed into opposing was a powerful capitalist with a grudge? Who Stoker had happened to be standing nearest to when he snapped?

He hoped Maheen Lucrum was strangled by his three thousand unit tie.*

Sending him falling to anywhere, no way of escape - that's just rude. And what was he Stoker supposed to do if he ended up in the middle of nowhere, no sentient life around for miles? 

/Die/? No, sir. Not here, not now. People still owed him money.

Stoker inhaled, slowly releasing his knees and relaxing his limbs. Alright, plan time. What was the objectively safest (or at least easy and probably not risky) way to ensure that he did not end up directly over a sun, in the middle of nowhere, or any other way to die in under a minute?

What was something he was actually relatively good at?

He snapped his fingers. (A cliche move, but one he enjoyed nonetheless.)

Magic.

Not just the fiery kind, but the sensing of the inner spiritual web that ran through every magician, witch, sorcerer, such on, every magic user, the channel of magical energy flowing throughout the entire universe! Or something like that. 

Stoker clenched his fists and did the best sensing he'd done in years. Sensing, pulling the end of the portal closest to the source - he could feel the change, icy in his veins, yanking and gravitating the tunnel nearer and nearer. A thriving mass of magic, of energy. That was, almost by definition, a waving flag signaling life.

He grinned, feeling himself being drawn swiftly towards the exit, feeling the tunnel gape open as it rested over that home of energy.

He fell through-

And was fifty meters in the air, staring down at a crowd of people, gathered around a pool. Magic- abundant or powerful? Certainly different, certainly peculiar - washing over him. He plummeted, down, down, consciousness slipping from him... 

Stoker's body hit the water with a characteristically grand splash.


	2. Chapter Two, in which Court thinks. This is filler, sort of. We promise we'll get to the good stuff soon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Presenting... Galaxy Run's version of the Grandmaster. Sort of. I hate this story.
> 
> A party is crashed. Court and Jasmine have a little chat. Stoker is in for the ride of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why's Court so fun to write?

Court Pars Feram stood, soaked in lavender-tinted water and holding a margarita dejectedly, by the edge of the pool.

A body, dressed much too casually for the occasion, lay floating on the surface of the liquid, unconscious and thus unaware of what a horrible mess he'd made of the Eternal's party.

Despite the ruined atmosphere, Court seemed radically pleased. He took a sip of his drink- ruined as well, but keeping its underlying flavor- and gestured for the guards to please stop pointing their weapons at the body; those are dangerous.

He looked around at the murmuring, wide-eyed crowd, and flashed a grin at them. 

"Ah, everybody. Nothing to worry about, alright? Technical, uh, difficulties, if you know what I mean." Court waved his glass at them. "Help yourselves to anything that's not soaked! And we'll get this little... obstacle out of here... right..."

He snapped his fingers at the attendants, watching them lift the green-skinned figure from the water. "...Uh, right now. Yeah." 

Court turned back to the others, eyes still lingering on the body. "The water's fine! I should know, I'm covered in it!" 

He hurried away to the senseless cheers and laughter of the crowd.

~~~~~~

Outside the official waiting lobby. Jasmine, Court's equally official aide, stood before him, finishing her relay of information.

"So, let me get this, uh. Let me get this straight," Court started, tapping his painted nails together. "This- Yevkar, was it?- falls from what our security guards say is a portal, and crash lands into the middle of my party. We don't know where the portal came from. We know the Yevkar is a bounty hunter. But we don't know his name, his home planet, or, let's see, how in the hell he got here. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir." Jasmine nodded, used to keeping up with her boss's rambling strings of speech. 

Court rubbed his temples. "Okay. Yeah. Mm-hmm. Alright. Well, uh. Mnn. We can ask. When they wake up." 

He glanced behind him, at the door. That little Yevkar was inside, being dried off and by a handful of attendants. Court's lips quirked upward. If he handled the whole ordeal properly, this could be... fun.

"Sir?"

He pulled his vision back, eyeing Jasmine sternly. "What?"

"You could have just killed him," she stated bluntly, looking at the Eternal with an air of doubt.* "After all, he did rather spoil the whole festivity."

"Mm, yes, well. This one... you know what? This one's special." Court split into a grin, hooded eyes flashing randily. 

Jasmine frowned, unimpressed. "Elaborate."

Court laughed quietly. "You know how it is. I've just taken an... interest." He paused, running his tongue over an incisor as he thought out his next statement. "Jasmine..."

"Yes?"

"I've got an order for you."

"As is to be expected."

"Get the attendants, why don't you, and uh, when our little... guest... wakes up, well." Court straightened his collar. "Give him the full treatment."

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "The torture kind or the pampering kind. sir? It has two meanings."

"The pampering kind, dammit. Bath, clothes, little introduction thing, uh, food and drink. Hold one of the rooms for 'em. You know what I mean?"

Jasmine nodded. "Provided they don't resist?"

"Oh, of course, but, if they /do/... well, mm, you can stop that, can't you?"

"Naturally."

"But no death."

She scowled. Court mimicked her expression, and Jasmine nodded, albeit rolling her eyes. "Fine. No death. What about torture?"

"Don't you dare. And you're getting me off topic. Do all, uh, do all that, and bring them to the lobby. I'm just, ah... I'm very eager to meet this, this visitor."

Jasmine nodded again, still looking as if she found the whole situation ridiculous. Court waved his hand, and she hurried off.

"And bring me a Bloody Mary, Jasmine!" His voice echoed down the corridors.

Court stood, grinning like a madman, watching her wave a fist at him.

His smile widened, watching the Yevkar stir through the circular window in the door.

Oh, yes. This was certainly going to be a /very/ fun little affair.

Court readjusted his collar once more, starting down the east hall. 

He had a meeting to prepare for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jasmine, as Court's longest-running aide, is one of the few employees who gets to sass and banter with him.


	3. Chapter Three, in which Stoker is treated suspiciously nice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stoker gets useless facts and some new clothes. He's in for much more than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I still writing this?

Chapter Three, in which Stoker is treated suspiciously nice.

Stoker woke to a huddle of people standing over him. 

Hirons, by the look of it, faces a pale pink and four eyes iridescent, the nine of them each smiling widely. 

This was certainly not the optimal view; the bizarreness of it momentarily shook the situation he was in out of his head. Stoker blinked, and blinked again, jarring his vision until the information hit him like a brick.

He had escaped death and belly flopped into a pool. Oh, joy. And now he was laying on a- bed? Yes, a small one, a firm and unadorned mattress- and wearing what appeared to be some sort of dressing robe. Fine material, he noted.

He was dry, at least.

The Hiron standing by his feet spoke first: "Good afternoon, dear visitor." She flashed a toothy smile as the other eight propped Stoker up in a sitting position, noiselessly sliding a pillow under his back.

Wherever he was, it was f*cking weird.

"It is 15:37," they continued, "thirty-two degrees standard temperature."*

One of the Hirons handed him a glass of water. He drank, speechless.

"My name is Ivy. I am the tour guide here."

Stoker, finding his words, interjected. "Where is 'here'? What /planet/ is 'here'?"

Ivy smiled at him once again. "You are on Funale, a moon of the unpopulated planet Darj." 

Another Hiron pressed a button on the wall, and a hologram burst forth from the ceiling, projecting this so-called Funale onto the screen, listing a few statistics as it rotated. The image zoomed out, showing Darj; farther, showing the system, Aaze; farther, showing the galaxy, Krilntrack. Stoker drank again, watching a plethora of statistics circle the image.

Yeah, like he said. Weird.

But at least familiar- Krilntrack was adjacent to where he'd started this whole mess anyway. It wouldn't take too long for the others to find him, providing they used their brains. 

He turned back to... Ivy? Yeah, Ivy, who was watching him intently as one of the others turned off the hologram.

"Specifically," she started again, "you are in room E-17 of the Ferox House, located in Funale's capital, Amos, located in the province of Caritas, which is our largest-"

Stoker cut her off, clearly disinterested. "Yeah, whatever. The better question is /why/ am I here?" He chewed on a piece of ice provided, looking at her expectantly.

"Of course. As you might know-" Stoker was sure he didn't- "both Funale and the Ferox House are legally owned by Court Pars Feram, an..."

Ivy paused for a moment, as if remembering suddenly to omit something. "Who is also the co-ruler of Funale, along with our prime minister Des Chapling." 

She gave him a smile, just awkward enough to make him sufficiently suspicious. Stoker took another drink, watching her with slight disdain. "...Go on, Ivy."

"He greets all first-time visitors here. And, as a bonus, since you have piqued his interest with what he has dubbed your 'grand entrance', he is giving you the status of Special Guest. Now, isn't that nice?" All the other Hirons made a few chittering noises of agreement.

Stoker nodded slowly. "Uh-huh. And what does that entail?"

"You will be treated very kindly in your stay here. Many, many privileges." The others chimed in with small proclamations of "Very lucky" and "You'll love it." 

Stoker- although keeping an air of discontent- found himself admitting that his treatment so far hadn't been too terrible at all. 

"Now, if you'd only fill this out-" Ivy pulled up a form on her communications bracelet and sent it to him, changing the subject at warp speed. "We can get you ready for your meeting with Feram."

"Get me... ready?" Stoker scrolled through the form. Pretty basic, but a few questions seemed a little... odd. He was expecting things like name, birthplace, species, occupation, etcetera- he didn't see what favorite color had to do with it.

"Of course! You're the Special Guest, you can't go in there wearing a /bathrobe/." Ivy laughed as if this was common knowledge, accompanied by the others. "We'll get you all cleaned up, all proper. Customs, of course." 

Stoker smiled anxiously. "I'm eager."

\- - - - -

A group of silver-skinned Keglers had fulfilled the 'treated very kindly' promise. Stoker had been sweetly, gently handled, bathed and brushed and clothed quickly but not roughly. 

The new garments seemed to be the highlight of the whole affair; expensive-looking things in shades of blue that seemed to be picked for him specifically. Stoker fiddled with the buttons on the tunic, well aware that- from what the Hirons had told him before handing him off- this was barely a sample of what was in store.

The thought was vaguely unsettling. There didn't seem to be a reason for such pampering, such fuss. Stoker was surprised he hadn't resisted. Abeona's sake, they could be planning to do anything to him.

He mildly wondered if they'd drugged the water.

Nonetheless, he sat in the chair they'd brought out for him, sitting with Ivy behind him, in the waiting lobby, following its namesake and waiting to be beckoned.

"You aren't nervous, are you?" Ivy asked.

Stoker shrugged. "Not really. I haven't quite found a reason to be so yet," he lied. 

"Do you want something, then? A drink? Caritas has the largest alcohol production on-"

"On Funale, I get it, I get it." She'd been cramming facts into their conversation at any opportunity.

"Of course. We also have-"

This time, it was not Stoker that interrupted her, but an unfamiliar duo: a sardonically smiling woman in aide's robes and a stone-faced man behind her, looking very much like a bodyguard. (Burjins, perhaps, dark-haired and deep purple.)

"You may enter," the woman stated simply, looking Stoker over with mild contempt as the man pulled the door open.

Ivy pulled Stoker to his feet, made him hurry to the entrance, nudged him inside.

He was faced with a rather strange sort of sight: the person he presumed to be Feram, sitting cross-legged in a sort of throne, drinking from a comically large glass of Bloody Mary.

The figure looked down at him with half lidded eyes- painted ones, outlined with the same shade of teal on Feram's lips- and grinned. Feram waved Ivy away, focusing all his attention on Stoker.

Feram spoke, voice tinted with a foreign and lilting accent: "Welcome to Funale, darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Standard temperature is just Celsius, plus five.
> 
>  
> 
> There are many, many species on Funale, and we certainly can't explain them all.
> 
> For maximum enjoyment, please read Court's voice as a variation on Magic Brian. I will die shortly.


	4. Chapter Four, in which a meeting occurs. Wow, Court's kinda creepy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stoker and Court interact for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering about the bracelets, almost everyone has one. It's much like a sleek sort of phone around your wrist, with a holographic screen that can appear and be interacted with.

Court watched the man- it /did/ say man on the form, right?- in front of him pause, as if a small error had occurred. The little Yevkar seemed mildly dazed; the information pouring into his system seemed a little too much.

That made Court much more pleased than he'd expected.

"I'm... glad to be here," the other said at last, smiling widely. Dear heavens, did he look good in those clothes. Those Keglers were getting a raise.

"Of course you are..." Court glanced at his bracelet- "Stoker, was it? Chaudfroid?" 

Stoker nodded in confirmation. "Your pronunciation is perfect."

"Naturally. And might I add, ooh, very nice name. Stokes; Stokester. Sort of, uh, hmm, a... charcoal taste. Lovely. Really." Court raised the glass to his lips, watching Stoker intently.

"...Thank you?" Stoker's smile faltered ever so slightly, and Jasmine flashed him an apologetic look from his peripheral vision. 

"Mm-hmm. Let's see, what else have we got here?" Court flicked the screen, scrolling through the form. "Ah. Twenty-nine, he/him- hmm, it's the same in my case, if you, ah, happened to be curious- Yevkarese... And from, uh, from Gloxnob too! That's near here, isn't it, honey? Fantastic place." 

Technically, Court owned that planet too, but it wasn't like he was getting anything from it. Not a unit from all those slot machines.

"Well, it's not particularly fine when you've grown up there," Stoker joked, cocking his one split eyebrow. 

Court had a vague awareness that between his own accent and speech patterns, the Yevkar thought him to be a dandy, drunk off his ass. Perhaps the glass of tomato juice and vodka might have affected that assumption.

"Hmm. I'll keep that, um, keep that in mind. Anyway-" swipe at the screen again, look pleasantly disinterested- "Interesting choice of occupations, yes? Bounty hunter, mechanic, odd jobs?"

"It's a living."

Court laughed fondly. "Tell me, sweetheart... What's the biggest bounty you've ever pulled in?"

The look in Stoker's eyes was crystal-clear: definite confusion, as 'darling' and 'honey' and 'sweetheart' caught up to him. Perfect.

"Uh...about twenty-five thousand units."

Court put on a frown. "That's not really a lot, is it? Not here, at least."

"The... economy is different where we were?" Stoker shrugged.

"Well, that's not important, anyway, uh, not now." Regain an affected self-important smile, scroll down. "Let's see now, Stoker... Ah here we are: legally dead on two planets and wanted on three, that's just really terrific. I mean it."

Stoker looked both uncomfortable and flattered. /Perfect/. "That's all true," he confirmed, smiling nevertheless.

"Lovely, and... oh, magic user! Marvelous, truly. We do so love those here. And fire? That is superb. Can you, uh, can you show me?"

Stoker, seeming eager to show off, ignited his fist with a snap and a grin. "School of evocation."

"Oh, /splendid/." Court scrolled down a little further, absorbing the information, then closed down the screen. "I, for one, am really happy to, mm, have you here. I trust you've been treated kindly?"

"Oh, no. It was horrible," Stoker deadpanned. 

Court turned to Jasmine, thick eyebrows knotted. "Was that sarcasm?"

"Indubitably," she sniffed. 

Court nodded, albeit slowly, and drained his glass. "You enjoyed it, then, darling? I, ah, I really hope so."

Stoker nodded in return. "Yeah. Very, uh, /extravagant/."

"Needless to say, we aim to please." Court handed his glass off.

He paused in Stoker's momentary silence, and stepped off the chair, habitually patting the front of his robe.

Stoker seemed to fumble for his words. Court could feel just a little bit of the Yevkar recoiling.

He was simultaneously frustrated and euphoric because of it.

"That's a good thing, isn't it? Me being the... 'Special Guest' and all."

Court stood in front of him, appraising the green-skinned man with the same look of a buyer at a market. His heart gave a little skip when he saw the beginnings of perspiration form above the Yevkar's collar. "Of /course/, Stoker, /of course/."

"Well-"

The Eternal cut him off, putting a hand on Stoker's shoulder with a gentle clap. "I can assure you that you'll love it here; on Funale, at this place. Although, no matter how they play it up, the Ferox House is just a, um, a fancy hotel with a... Jasmine, what do the Terrans call it?"

"A /seedy, shady neon nightclub/, sir."

"Yes, that's the phrasing. Rather, hmm, peculiar, isn't it? A fancy hotel with, uh, a seedy and shady neon nightclub in the back. That's all." Court squeezed the other's shoulder, smoothly moving his painted fingers up to tap Stoker's cheek. "Or do you like that kind of outlet?"

Stoker's smile widened; it was hard to tell whether from eagerness to please or genuine enjoyment. "I think I can certainly take pleasure in it."

Court nodded appreciatively, repositioning himself so he was again in front of the other. "Well, then. I think that'll be all, won't it? I'll, uh, see you in a few hours at the dinner- get the attendants to dress you, the occasion's semi-formal... And I'll be honest with you, I'm not sure why. You can tell me all about, mnn, how you ended up here, yes?"

"I've actually still got a few questions, and-"

"Dinner, darling, all over dinner. I'm a very busy person." Court clapped his hands, signaling Ivy and the rest of the Hirons to enter, gently nudge Stoker in the correct direction.

"Uh... yeah, okay, dinner, then." Stoker's whole personality seemed annoyingly overshadowed by nervousness.

"And don't look so /afraid/, honey. We won't hurt you here."

A glint in the momentary quiet relayed the rest of the message: 

Unless we have to.

The door closed; all but Court and the two Burjins remained.

Court was going to enjoy this very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this weird?


	5. Chapter Five, in which Stoker and Court have a nice little Terran-esque dinner. Stoker sure isn't getting much information out of this vaporwave dandy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stoker gets a new outfit. There's an elevator. The food is weird here. Everything is weird here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do you still trust Court?

The knockings came at Stoker's door at precisely one minute past seventeen, four quick beats and a fifth one as what seemed to be an afterthought.

"Requesting one Stoker Chaudfroid's presence," a voice called out, unmistakably Court's- the first name was decidedly more appropriate, considering the strange familiarity that had been expressed- considering the heavy Fukesian accent. 

Stoker slid off the bed, still getting used to the flowing fabric of the seemingly semi-formal outfit he'd been fitted with a half hour ago. "Er, coming," he responded, switching off the digital lock on the door and pulling it open. 

(Yes, lock: they'd certainly made him welcome, he had a sort of small hotel-esque suite of his own now, and a plethora of attendants seemed to be lurking, in wait of his... needs? Sure. The gentleness of his treatment made him remarkably wary of their motives. It all seemed very unrealistic.) 

Court stood, grinning widely and hands held almost prayer-like in front of his chest, before the doorway. "There you are. And- oh, what have we here! The Keglers have done, uh, just a simply /terrific/ job."

His hand was already on Stoker's shoulder, poking at the fabric in mildly childish delight. 

"Funalian semi-formal," the female Burjin behind him droned. "Higher collar, tighter sleeves, longer shirts." 

"Yes, Jasmine, naturally..." Court stepped away. "We aren't necessarily, ah, very rule-heavy here, but we do want appearance to be kept quite precise, you know."

"I know, sir."

"I wasn't talking to you." 

Stoker's eyes darted from between the two people, watching but not quite hearing them banter. "Well... I, for one, find the way things kept here to be suitable."

Ooh, it hurt, just a little, a sort of pain in his chest, to suck up.

Court beamed at him. "See? He likes it." 

And at that- an arm around his shoulder, pulling him semi-forcefully out of the doorway and into the hall. Stoker grinned nervously. 

"I can presume you're here for this... dinner you were talking about?" He guessed, looking up at the other's angled face. 

"Oh, yes, naturally... That /was/ it, wasn't it, Jasmine?"

"/Yes/, sir." The Burjin- Jasmine, he supposed, a much too delicate-sounding name. A vague knowledge acquired told him it was some sort of Terran flower. Along with Ivy, it was noted.

He'd thought it once, and he'd do so again: this place was fucking weird.

The epitome of it being the needlessly tall figure that was squeezing his shoulder but, grinning wildly. 

And this was supposed to be the head of the whole affair.

"I'm eager to eat," Stoker admitted. Court pulled his arm away and clapped in seeming excitement.

"Oh, good news, then. Uh, come with us, and we'll be there in no time. Let's take the elevator, shall we? It's a beautiful building and all, but I do /not/ want to be late. You know how it is."

Stoker nodded tentatively. "I do."

They went, in almost silence, Court occasionally offering some remark that needed no response but a change of facial expression from the Burjin.

And into the elevator: a big thing, perhaps seven meters on each side, with a blankly white door that offset both the purplish aura of the previous hallway and the emerald walls inside. 

Jasmine pressed a button inside, indicating downwards to the sixth floor- Stoker had almost forgotten they were on the twenty-third, barely a height from within a remarkably tall building. He mildly wondered how large it appeared from the outside.

Court turned, pulling a piece of his already oddly disheveled hair absentmindedly with his pointer finger. "They, er, they say that if you input the right code, you can change the speed of the,elevator."

"'They say'? It's your building, shouldn't you know?" Stoker remarked.

It earned him a harsh look from Jasmine. He did not search for meaning in it.

"Ah, you've got me there, sweetheart. I suppose I should. We'll look into it, won't we? Jasmine?" 

Jasmine only nodded and rolled her eyes, looking as if she had to resist saying something.

The Yevkar looked Court over, slightly more confident now. "So, when did you start building this-"

Court held up a heavily ringed hand. "No more questions, Stoker! Not until dinner. Which, uh, will occur shortly, so I'm sure you can wait, yes?"

Stoker didn't think he liked the way he said his name.

Out of the elevator, into the hall, and Jasmine pulling open the dining room doors. A pause in the crowd that had already arrived, a momentary silence, as they appraised the newest arrivals.

Court waved briefly, his free hand back on Stoker's shoulder. All the guests seemed to nod, in unison, and turned back to whatever sort of engaging conversation they'd been having.

Down to the table assigned to them, two seats near the back of the room and across from some four-armed statue. 

Court gestured Jasmine away, and- rather audaciously, the Yevkar thought- pulled out Stoker's chair.

They sat, and the purple-haired figure instantly uncorked the bottle of orange liquid in the center of table.

"Now, ah, Stoker. I'd usually wait until the food gets here, but that'd take... hmm, about five minutes, so I'll make an exception. Ask away, darling. Since you're so curious." He poured, the dark fluid sloshing into his glass.

Stoker nodded gratefully, watching Court reach for the other glass and pour Stoker a drink. 

"Right. First off- what /is/ that?"

"Oh, Funalian wine. It's just fermented sunberry juice, you needn't worry." 

It also bubbled quite thickly, contrasting Court's last statement. 

"And what's this music playing?" What was coming through the ceiling speakers was unnaturally relaxing.

Court frowned from over the rim of his glass. "It's just classical music, Stoker. Well, chillstep classical, if we're getting technical but, um,you know. I thought you'd ask better questions than this, really."

Chillstep classical. Those weren't words he understood, even in the Basic they were speaking. Stoker drank impulsively, swallowing the rich amber wine without another thought.

"Of course, yeah... You own this building? Did you found it?"

"Owned and founded. Since... ah, since, um 2988."

"And how old are you?"

"Er, forty-seven."

Stoker raised an eyebrow. "Really? You look..." Older? Younger? The very confusion he felt attempting to figure it out chilled him to the bone. An energy that at its core screamed old, but the fact seemed to refuse to settle in his mind. He took another drink. "You look good."

Court beamed. "I try."

"Just what species are you, again?"

"Ooh, rather heavy on the, erm, personal questions, aren't we?" Court twirled a few strands of his hair around his pointer finger. "Divaanian*, darling, but born and raised on Fukis."

Stoker nodded, searching it up under the table. Seemed to match- Terran-like, magic users. 

Yet, Stoker just didn't believe it. The fact would not settle in his brain. It felt like jamming a square block into a circular hole.

"You're a little... tall for a Divaanian, aren't you?"

Court shrugged. "I got, hmm, more minerals away from Divaan. Helps with growth. Really, I don't know why no one else is doing it."

"...I see."

"And are those all your questions, Stoker?"

"No, certainly not-"

"Pause!" Court cut him off, holding up a hand and gesturing to the approaching servers. "Dinner's here."

Two bowls, the culprits of interrupting Stoker's cautious interrogation, were slid onto the table. A thick looking blue fluid, with chunks of something that seemed to act very much like meat inside it; accompanied by a plate of what might have been a few orange-tinted rolls of bread.

Stoker's attempts to grasp the whole energy, the facts and details, of this place, were going as well as if he had attempted to grasp a bar of soap he'd dropped in the bathtub.

Court clapped excitedly, once again acting like a much younger person than stated. Apparently, that was the Fukisian way. "Now, Stoker, supernova, this is-"

"Sorry, but... " Stoker eyed him, frowning partially. "What did you call me?"

"Er, your name?" The other paused, spoon halfway above the dish. "Stoker, yes?"

"No, you said something else. After that. You called me supernova."

"Hmm, did I?" Court dipped his spoon in, looking as if he found the whole matter extremely unimportant.

"You've been doing that all day. Those little... terms of affection."

"Oh, well: Does it bother you?"

Did it... bother him?

Stoker searched for the answer, certain it was on the tip of his tongue.

It was not. He drank again, rolling the wine in his mouth.

/Did it?/

It should. Stoker swallowed, weighing out the bullet points. 

Perhaps not. Perhaps it blended in with the aura, perhaps it did not seem out of place. Or perhaps it was amusing.

The Yevkar's brain began to throb slightly. 

This whole situation was atrocious.

"...Continue what you were saying. Court." Stoker managed to say, slowly.

A gleam, barely noticeable and perhaps an effect of the electric blue lighting above them, flashed in Court's eyes. 

"Right, yes, and then your questions. Awfully curious... " He mused, drawing the last words out. "Anyway, uh. This is a sort of Terran dish, actually. The meat is from one of their... pigs, I think. In a sort of imported broth, I don't know where from. The sort of- it's bread, I think, I think that's the word, that was sort of, um, an earthly pairing too... "

Court's rambling speech, punctuated by little fillers, seemed entirely illogical. Stoker drowned it out, wondering just how much of this wine the other had had beforehand. 

That would explain a lot, yes- a drunken rich fool. Take anyone who crashes near his things in. Perhaps it was all just sort of an inebriated bit of playing.

Stoker, if he went that route of thinking, could safely assume he wasn't in danger. All he had to do was amuse the madman, play along for a while, perhaps take advantage of this situation. Surely there was something to gain.

Stoker watched as Court, still talking, pulled open a roll; a good amount of sunshine yellow and rather thick liquid was nestled in the middle of the bread, and dripped down into the soup, mixing with the broth as oil did with water.

"...And I've been told it tastes just splendid, really." Court finished, seeming entirely unfazed as he stirred the liquids together in vain. "Give it a try, sweetheart, just once, then you can get back to all those, er, queries. " 

Stoker, forgoing the bread, lowered his spoon and ate. The blue broth was remarkably greasy. Not to say it wasn't good. It would be nice, though, if he knew what it was from. He doubted Court had any clue, either.

"It's... interesting," he offered at last.

"Oh, goody. Take as much as you want, there's more where that came from. I think." Court pushed the plate of bread towards him, smiling. "Now... Go on, yes?"

"Yes. Um." Stoker poked at a roll, grimacing as a drop of filling rose up through a gap in the dough to greet his finger. He fumbled for his next question, shoving a piece of the so-called pig meat into his mouth.

Tender. Rather rich, and... No, that wasn't the topic at hand.

His mind drew a blank, well aware that Court was watching him expectantly. "...What exactly is a 'Special Guest?'"

"Oh, you know. Sort of a... erm, guest of honor. You're free to stay, as long as you like. Free of charge. It's, hmm, it's a very large building. We welcome visitors very gladly."

Stoker could see that. But it all seemed very generous. Creepily so.

"Alright, then. /Why/ am I the Special Guest?"

Court seemed too mull this over, picking the roll into small pieces of orange dough as he mused. "Well, you did make quite an entrance."

"That hardly seems to be a fitting reason."

Court laughed, rather heartily, hand shaking from movement enough to drop a piece of bread unintentionally into his bowl. "Ah, yes, well, stardust, darling. Many things here are like that. I feel as if you're overthinking it."

"Really?"

"Yes, of course. And besides..." Court lifted another spoonful to his mouth, ate with pleasure. "I quite like your... energy, I'd say. I seem to have become, ah, rather curious myself."

Stoker didn't quite enjoy the sound of that. "Is that so?"

"Certainly. And while we're on the subject..." Court shifted, sitting up ever so slightly, and refilled his glass, staring Stoker straight in the eyes. "I think you've had enough questions for this first course, so..."

The Yevkar took another bite, waiting for him to continue.

Court corked the bottle, watching it wobble as he set it back down.

"So. Let's talk about /you/."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This is not only a lie, but a double-lie. The entire Divaanian species is made up by the Eternals.
> 
> Anyway, they'll finish dinner in the next chapter, except we get to blatantly be told by Court himself that he is lying.


	6. Chapter six, in which the dinner finishes. This is weird.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dinner comes to an end. Jasmine thinks Court is a loser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it gets better.

Court lifted his glass and filled his mouth with wine, eagerly watching his guest struggle for words. 

A silence had fallen between them; save the muffled tapping of Court's triple-strapped sandals from under the table and the quiet inpour of music. 

The Eternal smiled in a direct attempt to dissipate any assumed hostility. Stoker smiled back, although certainly much more... say, nervous.

Court lowered his drink, raising an eyebrow in expectation: the Yevkar shifted in his chair, blinked a few times; seemed to regain his aura of coolness.

"Me? Now, there's something I'm an expert on." Stoker laughed at his own joke. Court followed suit.

"Ah, well. In, uh, in that case. I can assume you won't mind if I have a few... questions of my own?"

Stoker ate a few spoonfuls of his dish in silence. Stalling, stalling. 

"Certainly not," he replied, at last. 

Unspoken: But do err away from the private side of things.

Court nodded, thoughtfully. "Of course. Now... we don't include this little, er, query, in our forms, but- you made /quite/ an entrance, as I've said, so let's get it out."

A pause, reaching for another roll, biting in and letting his tongue be engulfed by the almost soupy filling. 

Stoker shifted again. Oh, /thrilling/!

Court swallowed heavily. Don't be a fool. Cards very, very close to your chest now, hell, even hidden in your shirt if you must.

"Hmm." Court licked his bottom lip gingerly, removing a stray spot of the filling, and spoke again: "Let's see... Just why, and how, did you happen to arrive here, on Funale? Besides, of course, crashing one of my parties, dear?"

Stoker winced. "Sorry about that, by the way. I didn't mean to spoil the thing."

"Oh, yes, yes, I'm sure it was entirely unintentional, all that; besides, it wasn't that good, really, just a little morning thing for... hmm, alright, I don't remember the reason. Erm. " Court frowned. "I was, ah, kind of hungover, anyway. But- I'm off track again, look at that! Do answer the question. "

Stoker fiddled with the top button of his shirt, thinking before he spoke. "Do you want the short version?"

"If you think it's necessary."

"It's kind of a... funny story."

"It sounds even better, then." Court ate, bits of bread now turned wildly blue by the broth.

"You know how I'm a bounty hunter?"

"That was included on the form, yes."

"Me and a few others got involved in a little trouble."

This was the short version? 

Court watched Stoker drink; he restrained the urge to make a gesture of 'get on with it'. 

"We owed a favor to these two Markeenians, and, uh. We thought it'd be something simple. But- and here's the funny part- they actually asked us to help their revolution." Stoker laughed, half-nervously, pausing to eat.

"That's certainly... fascinating."

"I know, right? And, believe it or not, my captain actually said /yes/. She's... like that. All 'justice, justice, freedom, yada yada'."

Hmm. And this captain was certainly going to be chasing down her stray member. An inconvenience, indubitably. Court did not react, only raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"So we were supposed to help overthrow the man who'd taken over the planet and just fucked up the economy, this capitalist guy named, uh..." Stoker blinked, partially inebriated, before remembering: "Maheen Lucrum, that was it."

"That /son of a bitch/!" Court exclaimed suddenly, unable to control himself; his spoon had been dropped into the bowl, liquid splashing out and turning the white tablecloth faintly blue. 

There had been two main things that upset Court heavily in the last sentence.

One, Maheen wasn't supposed to take over any planets without three other Eternals supporting him- and Court /knew/ no one else was, he had checked and double-checked; and two, Maheen was likely paying for most of the ordeal with money he still owed Court.

Family was becoming excessively troublesome.

"Do you know him?" Stoker had paused his meal, eyeing the Eternal with vague concern.

And now- increasingly irritating- Court had to cover up his tracks, in order to keep the many lies he'd told in the last half hour from being revealed as what they were.

"Er, yes, he, uh. He owes me quite a lot of units, is all." Just a bit of truth, to subdue the whole thing.

"How much?"

"Mmm..." Court retrieved his spoon from the soup, frowning. "Let's see now. We started off at seven-point-eighty-five million, so... we're about. um, nine million, nine hundred and forty-five thousand." 

"/Holy shit/."

It wasn't the amount that fazed him, certainly not- it was that the amount hadn't been paid back since 2015. 

What was that now, nine hundred ninety-four years? Almost a century. Preposterous.

But, to keep up the image, he followed along: "Holy shit indeed. And not even, ha, not even one installment of it paid off."

"Why'd you loan him so much?" The Yevkar in front of him looked truly astonished.

"Oh, business deal. Things were different then." He waved a hand dismissively, putting a smile up again. "Do, uh, do go on." 

Stoker nodded slowly, still seeming rather shocked. "And, uh... Lucrum's an Eternal, which makes things harder for us."

"Ah, yes... I'd expect that. I'm afraid, uh, that I don't know much about Eternals- but, of course, the whole 'immortal' thing has to be, erm, an awful drag."

Court, naturally, was lying his ass off.

"That and all the excessive power. I don't quite know where he's getting all of it from, but it's... strong."

'Strong'? Court resisted the urge to laugh. 

Oh, Stoker had no idea what he was in for.

"So I've heard..." He twirled a few strands of hair, nodding absentmindedly. Acting as nothing but mortal was a very strange game to play.

"And, uh, we got into a fight with him- and, you'll never believe it; he just opened up a tunnel, this portal thing, and sent me through it! And just because I was closest to him at the time." Stoker scowled and bit down on a roll, looking remarkably indignant. "I could have /died/."

Court nodded, offering vague and synthetic sympathy.

"Naturally, I wasn't going to die in space, was I? The middle of nowhere? Of course not." 

The Yevkar seemed remarkably more confident with each little burst of storytelling; Court would internally admit to taking pleasure in his flamboyance. Chaudfroid would fit in just splendidly here.

"So I used that one spell- I haven't got a clue of its name, the one that lets you, erm, find energy and stuff? Of living things? It's pretty basic- and this was the closest planet. With life on it. And, uh..." Stoker glanced around, smiling nervously. "A lot of life, at that. A lot of magic." 

Momentary silence, a twitch of his littlest finger the only gesture for the other to continue.

'A lot of magic'. Court was about to lose it at any time, now. Really? If not subdued as it was, as to not scare his newest guest, he knew that the same sheer power in all the other precursor's veins came off him in a cloud stronger than his cologne; headache-inducing and ridiculously brobdingnagian.

"So I ended up in your pool, I guess. Must have been a lot of magic-users at the party, huh?" Stoker may have been smiling, looking amused, but there was a little flash in his eyes that designated suspicion-

And how it sent magnificent waves of thrill up Court's spine. 

Now, /this/ was a game- or perhaps just a session of play, rule-less but for the private limits one set for oneself- that he could play.

"Mm, now, that really is a tragic story, darling." The Eternal nodded, giving a frown that was meant to convey some sort of genuine pity. "I'm so glad you're here now, of course."

"Thank you. And... I'm, I'm happy you've chosen to shelter me." Stoker seemed a little clumsy with his words when he said this; it did not matter to the other whether this was from partial unsureness or partial drunkenness.

"You're very welcome! I, uh, wouldn't have it any other way."

Both their bowls were mostly empty; the plate in the center was just a few rolls slowly making their way into the category of stale; and Court had managed to consume most of the bottle of wine provided for them.

Of course, there was always dessert.

~~~~~~

Back and forth banter of some off-white spongy material- musings of nonsense. Court was only slightly wiser by way of:

His guest had a sister.

What a useless finale of meal. 

He was going to need another glass of wine.

~~~~~~  
Later. When both suns had set. 

Dark enough for all the planet's nearest citizens to turn on their lights, shifting the planet into a Technicolor neon dreamscape.

As per usual.

And, again as per usual, Court was seated in his ridiculous divan on the top floor of the House; away from this acid-trip nightlife and instead staring up at the haughty red moon.

He clutched the new glass of wine that had been awaited, he drank with remarkable gusto.

Jasmine, on his right side, stood with her hands clasped; Lukas, on his left, did the same. His aide and his bodyguard. A sweet little arrangement, picturesque.

"Sir," the Burjin to the right began, "I presume the dinner went well?"

Court turned to her, head twisted in his couch-borne sprawl. "Mm, why, yes, Jasmine, I believe you could start to say that."

Lukas looked only mildly concerned.

"Could it have been better?"

The Eternal pondered this. "Not without... excessive cheating."

She nodded, understanding. Not without forced extraction, forced submission; things that would not be played until necessity. Court liked to stall, to savor, to relish in his time, his power. 

Silence, again.

Jasmine speaking, again: "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"We've noticed you've chosen to... conceal some rather crucial information from your guest."

"And?"

"It's one of the trickier bits to hide, Court. You're going to have to disclose it eventually."

Court drank. Slowly, searching for his words. "Jasmine."

"Yes?"

"I'm awfully, er, disappointed in you."

"And why is that?"

"I thought you knew that I always act with a purpose."

"Sorry, sir." Discreetly, she rolled her eyes, bringing a smile to the Eternal's lips.

"Two things, Jasmine, two things: one, we're going to keep a very tight watch on this guest, and second, if he figures it out, then he's smart, and worth our time."

"He already seems awfully suspicious."

"And that's a good thing. Do you understand me, Jamsine?"

"I understand you."

Court drank again.

The city lights pulsated radically.

What a wonderful evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No asterisks? Good job, me! Or possibly: bad job, me!


	7. Chapter Seven, in which a luncheon occurs. They sure eat a lot, don't they?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stoker goes out to eat lunch, questions the status of his stay, and gets invited to a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Des shows up in this one!

Stoker had been waiting for what felt like an eternity*, waiting for... in his words, contact. Contact from the heavily-accented figure at the had of this building.

After dinner, he had slept, yes- but everything from waking until now had simply nagged on driving him crazy. 

Stoker, to put it simply, had no idea what to do. He had no idea exactly what he was in for. And confusion had always been a massive pain in the Yevkar's neck; he wanted information and he wanted it /now/.

He'd eaten breakfast in a dining room that the never-ending attendants had escorted him to, surrounded by other hotel-goers of increasingly strange ornamentation. They would smile at him, but it was a smile that made him feel as if 'Special Guest' was a blinking neon sign over his head.

This was /still/ fucking weird, and he wanted it to stop.

The Yevkar lay once more on the ridiculously high-quality mattress, pondering whether or not he should simply leave and seek out some lavish celebration that he'd heard the other residents speak joyously of. A party sounded great, some way to get away from tossing a little marble of flame between his hands.

Yes, that was what he'd do, just get up now and-

Those strangely rhythmic knocks at the door were what cut off his train of thought. Once again.

A much more formal request, by the flatly intoning voice of the female Burjin- Jasmine, if he had the memory to recall. 

"Your presence is required in dining room C, to accompany the head of the Ferox House in a luncheon with the prime minister of Funale."

'Required'. That was new. That was not only new, but remarkably disturbing.

Stoker suddenly felt a very large rush of feeling, traveling up his spine- a wild desire to get off this planet.

Huh.

No matter.

He pried open the door, smiling nervously at her very evident frown. 

Perhaps she just didn't like him. (Or perhaps she just didn't like anyone. Stoker was starting to pick up that sort of vibe.) 

The takeaway was that he currently refused to believe that he was in any sort of danger.

"That sounds nice," he stated simply. "Will I need to change?"

Jasmine looked as if she had to resist the urge to snort. "Of course. Don't worry, it only takes twenty minutes to get fitted. You can find the way, don't you? Tardiness is not permitted."

Rude.

He nodded, and found his way to the designated area; just under the aforementioned twenty minutes passed, full of prodding and checking his measurements once more and waiting in a dressing robe while the masked maybe-tailors whipped things up. 

Dressed again, only slightly uncomfortable in the stupidly high collar, the strange layerings of the sleeves, the snugness of the pant-cuffs. 

Stoker had never been treated like this in his life, and he had no idea why he was letting it occur.

He assumed that at this point, it was just self-preservation. Fair enough, then.

The Yevkar found himself at another tall door, escorted once again- weird, weird, /weird/, and gently pushed inside, white wood closing quietly behind him.

All eyes, much to his displeasure, were suddenly on him. 

Well, fuck. 

He lifted his head in fake-it-til-you-make-it confidence, almost relieved when a beacon of asymmetric silk robes stood up from the head of the table, smiling widely. Court opened his arms, a supposed gesture of welcome, and spoke:

"Ah, here we are- friends and enemies, and all undecided and in-between, this is Stoker Chaudfroid, a... Special Guest, and all-round fascinating man. Stoker, Des Chapling-" a painted finger pointing towards a timid-looking Nid, at the opposite end of the table from Court, black-horned and lavender-skinned, maybe four and a half feet tall- "Prime Minister of Funale, lovely little fellow."

Hands were shaken, and the Yevkar was allowed to shake hands with Chapling, who only nodded and smiled nervously at him, mumbling a few words of greeting.

Somehow, Stoker was guided to his chair- directly next to Court, a fact he took notice of with both suspicion and honor- then seated promptly and poured a glass of deeply fuchsia liquid. 

"This is the, uh, this is the twenty-third time you've been here, Des, isn't it? Everyone, do give, er, a round of applause."

They did so. 

Formalities passed, names tossed around- there were many more officials in this one room than he was sure he'd ever experienced before, a thought that unnerved him ever so slightly- and at last, things settled, final platters were placed upon the oddly elongated dining table, everyone's glass was filled, the curtains were pulled open further, and so on.

Court raised his glass, all three obnoxious shades of nail polish shining in the sunlight, and spoke again:

"Let's see... we've got just a fantastic little crowd here, don't we? You all have, have introduced yourselves?"

The gathering murmured words of affirmation.

"Oh, goody. Then... Thank whatever, mm, whatever gods you serve under, and you can... begin the luncheon, can't you? No politics this afternoon, I'm afraid! Just food, and just us. Friendship, yes, Des?"

Chapling, seeming unsure of whether or not he should reply, did so anyway, mumbling with his head bowed. 

The head of the affair raised his glass, proclaimed a needlessly joyous 'Cheers!' and brought the glass to his lips, drinking half straight away before he was even seated.

The rest of the guests split into separate conversations; Stoker caught fragments of this chatter, things about nuclear families and otherwise, murmurs of 'stock', 'trade' and 'tourism', 'frivolity'. A couple glances, seemingly ignored by Court, shot towards his tall figure, littered with things that were not always entirely benevolent. 

The Yevkar turned to the man at the head of the table, curling a strand of hair around one finger and speaking to an attendant softly, something about the ingredients in a certain sort of maybe-salad.

"Court?" Stoker asked tentatively.

"Yes, darling?" The other momentarily diverted his gaze, now onto the guest seated close to him.

God, were those terms of affection sounding odder and odder each time they passed those painted lips.

"Why, uh. Why am I... here?" At this particular meal, surrounded by officials, in the seat on the right side directly next to Court.

"In that chair or, or in this room? Or perhaps this building? This planet? This galaxy? This, this plane of existence?"

"...The first two?"

"Oh, that's easy, then. Because you're the Special Guest, Stoker, and, erm, we wouldn't want anything less," replied Feram, gesturing the attendant away idly.

"And that means inviting me to a... what is this, a political luncheon?"

"No, not political, not at all, /ganz und gar nicht/. A friendly lunch."

"That just happens to have government officials?"

"They're my friends, sweetheart."

"...I see." A silence hovered, Stoker still trying to logic out the entire situation.

Court only nodded, and uncapped the dish in front of the Yevkar, revealing what may have been a sea creature, deep green and oozing some translucent yellow fluid. "There you go- we were, ah, going to do a, a, a sort of shrimp, but you can't have that, can you?"

Stoker almost felt special. "No, you're right."

"May I ask why? Religious reasons?" The other asked idly.

"No, I'll just go into shock," Stoker replied. It had been a remarkably traumatic experience both the first time it happened (age seven) and the last (a year ago). He had even began to hate the pinkish color.

"Hmm. Wouldn't want that now, would we? Now do eat."

Stoker had his hand already halfway to the fork before something clicked in his mind, and caused him to speak: "I never told you that."

"Mm? Told me what?" Court asked, halting in his reach for the glass.

"About the shrimp. I never said anything about it." The Yevkar could swear on his life that he'd never said a word.

"No, I'm... positive you did, honey, I remember it quite vividly. Perhaps it was, was on the form?"

"I don't remember writing it down." Or, typing it, technically.

"Well... " Court clicked his tongue. "Memories can fail us. Especially, uh, especially after since you've had such a string of just, just awful experiences..."

"...I suppose," Stoker relented. He did not 'suppose' in the slightest. He believed that there was a remarkable oddity to this place, whether it was sitting just next to him and swallowing an almost gross deal of fuchsia liquid, or otherwise.

"Mm-hmm... Dig in, dear. You'll love it."

And so the Yevkar complied, with only minimal suspicion of being poisoned, and ate. 

As much as it hurt to admit, the purple-haired dandy at the head of the table was perfectly right. 

It was one of the greatest things he'd ever tasted. 

And if he was being poisoned?

So be it.

Stoker Chaudfroid went on until very little of the thing still remained in its emerald shell, not even bothering to still tune in to the chattering of the high-collared officials around him.

He'd always been such an awful sucker for things like these. 

(Could it be compared to the Terran lobster and its other intergalactic counterparts? Perhaps, but even that was a stretch.)

Only until his eyes wandered from his plate did his mind wander from anything but taste; now his gaze and mind were allowed to focus straight on another stare, the same from Court as the very first day, pitch-black irises and hooded eyelids that made his stomach curdle in two different ways; fear and intrigue alike.

"...Do you need something?" The Yevkar asked tentatively.

"Ah, no, I just... you're pleased with your treatment, yes?" Queried the so-called 'Divaanian', twirling a lock of hair near his temple around his little finger.

"I guess," replied Stoker, almost a little surprised at the question. It seemed peculiar, even a little bizarre, to be so invested in the thoughts and well-being of some bounty hunter who'd fallen from the sky. "...But I do have a few questions."

"Yes?"

He had to think for a moment, to employ strategy- a tactic he rarely found himself using at lunchtime- and find the best way to phrase his own curiosity.

"Just how old are you again, Court?" He asked, invoking faux innocence. What was the first answer he'd received? Forty-seven? Yeah, that was a lie, no doubting it now.

"Ah... sixty-one."

Now, there was another lie. Neither of the answers he'd received fit the figure who was now leaning a little closer to him; the most recent may have matched the face or perhaps the rest of the body, but not a single ounce of aura.

"I see," Stoker replied idly, taking a slice of rich chestnut-colored bread from the center of the table, watching the other intently.

"What were the, ah, other questions, sweetheart?"

He chewed on the bread for a moment- high quality again, thick on his tongue and still warm- before speaking, looking Court squarely in the eyes: "Am I a prisoner?"

Court appeared to choke on his drink, ridiculous purple eyebrows knotting to form one line; he swallowed, straightened out his airflow, and shook his head in great denial. "No, no, no! Don't even begin to /think/ like that, dear Stoker, no. You're a guest! An honored one, at that. Certainly not a prisoner."

"Then let me leave this place."

"But, ah, there's no need, is there? You've got everything you need right here- and anything you want you could just, just ask for..."

"I want to look for my crewmates," Stoker replied, setting his fork down as a sort of vaguely upset punctuation.

"Stoker, Stoker, Stoker, /darling/. That's such a difficult task. Doing that might mean wandering around for such an awfully long time... Do you have even the slightest clue where they are?"

He paused for a moment, to think. They surely weren't in the same place as last, right? That'd be illogical. "...No," the Yevkar admitted.

"Then you'll stay here, won't you? We'll even... send out some sort of signal, to, ah, look for your friends for you. From what I've heard, you've had just an awful, awful time... Relax a little, yes?" Court offered.

Stoker didn't know if he wanted to take that offer. But there was something, just the tiniest something, in this stranger's voice- even if he was a liar- that made him want to stay.

It couldn't be all that bad.

He looked down at the clothes on his vessel, and then up at the food on the table-

Yes, it certainly wasn't all that bad.

"...Sure. I'll relax a little," Stoker conceded, earning a happy little clap from Court.

"Ah, goody! Eat up then, sweetheart. You're quite safe here."

The Yevkar complied- for now- and tore off another piece of the dough.

"Uh, you know, Stoker," Court continued, reclaiming his glass and taking a good swig- it seemed to be his favorite hobby- "There's a, a, a party, tomorrow night- we'd just /love/ it if you came."

That reminded him- that way the woman had said 'required'. Perhaps the denial of his status as prisoner was not as secure as he'd thought. Or, if he was feeling optimistic, perhaps that was just part of the duty he was taking on as 'Special Guest'.

Nonetheless, he listened, and replied: "What's the party for?"

"Oh, no reason, of course- it's just the sort of, ah, thing we do on Thursdays. It's a... routine occasion."

"A... routine occasion?" The Yevkar's brows furrowed, but he complied once more with a what-the-hell sort of attitude. "Yeah, I'll come."

"You'll just love it! I promise, it's going to be, mm, very fun. You like that sort of thing, don't you?"

"I guess. What do I... do in the meantime, anyway?"

"Oh, just- just ask one of the, the attendants, they'll show you around. There's always something to do here. Let's see..."

Stoker let the other fall into a ramble again, that accented chatter that meant very little.

This wasn't going to be bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Eternity, my ass. Who do you think runs this place?


	8. Chapter Eight, in which a party is held, as there usually is on Funale.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Court throws a party. Stoker is there. We get to hear Feram mentioned as 'the Host' for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter!

There was Funalian liquor in Court's mouth and Funalian liquor on Court's chest. 

Blue liquid over paling lavender hairs, curled still- despite age- upon his torso, dripping through and sticking to the skin.

He was inflaming excitement within himself, pressing and holding the 'ON' button until the machine whirred to a start, all-systems-go and screens brightly illuminated.

Blinking, he was hasty to drain the crystalline glass in the privacy of his own chambers, feeling the chemicals that spread through the aruba colored fluid crackle on his tongue. Tasted the unseemly sour bitterness, swallowed with a grimace contorting wrinkled features.

There it was, that feeling of the supernova that was his heart jumpstarting as if it were a mortal's; false adrenaline in the form of a mania-esque burst coursing at warpspeed through fluorescent blood.

He slid off the too-big bed and pulled off the deeply magenta dressing robe, now bare and yet standing proud, alone within the falsely lit room, then to work: cleaned and dried in solitary, efficient in his speed, pumping sorcery from his skin to get it all out before the actual occasion, painting himself over without fingers ever actually touching the silvery tube of makeup. The Eternal let his mind do all the heavy lifting- he always had and he always would- until high collar was fastened around his neck.

This was nothing but preparation to dip back into his natural state, to submerge himself into potential energy and chaos and sensation.

Court flashed a smile at himself in the mirror, turned his head around in search for anything deemed particularly out of place- and then, deciding the ordeal finished, poured himself another glass of Funalian vocatus.

It was twenty-one o'clock.

The second sun hovered on the horizon, threatened to dip.

He drank. 

~~~

Pulling himself outwards and away, Court stumbled and staggered and traipsed until an amble could be achieved; retrieving composure and finding himself within one of the warp-walled elevators, Markoff on one side and Krieg on the other.

Such /good/ employees, Jasmine and Lukas, so neatly Burjinian and perfectly neat in appearance, so willing and just unprincipled enough to work in the Ferox House, worthy enough in their performance to have an Eternal as a paymaster-

But. Nevertheless, dragging his brain back to center focus.

Tonight was going to be /fun/.

He'd set everything up so well, with his pretty little on-edge Special Guest sure to be done up in a prepossessing way, and the room done with extra meticulousness; Feram specialty. Tonight he could truly reconnoiter, tuck away parcels of energy and store it, absorb it, learn to know it, gain the /absolute/ upper hand on the Yevkar.

Not that he had anything against Stoker, his stand was an antipode of that, but Court had always loved to be sure of... dominance.*

He cleared his throat. Rocked back and forth from heel to toe on the iridescent floors, turned to his near personnel.

"Lukas," he started, and the man turned eyes, shadowed by sunglasses, towards him. "I don't want you at the... occasion tonight."

"Why not, sir?"

"Oh, let's say... convenience. I'm trying to make, erm, an /impression/. You're a, a lovely fellow- you really are- but you just won't fit quite as neatly into this picture as I'd like you to. You understand? It's not a-"

"But, sir-"

"Ah hah. Don't interrupt me. I know, I know, you're my /bodyguard/, you're seven feet tall, you've got, uh, muscles for days- but. Lukas. I don't think I'm in much- and if you'd please forgive the term- mortal danger, at a celebration. Yes?"

It was not a question. It was a commandment, no matter how gentle Court could frame his voice, no matter how sweet he could mold his smile.

Everybody knew that.

Lukas Krieg nodded, and his employer turned to Jasmine.

"You, ah, on the other hand... Ja, no. I greatly appreciate you, you know that, but the same goes for you as it does for, for your colleague. I know you understand."

She seemed to have much less objection than the other; Markoff had never cared for the Eternals's events of carousing.

"You're going through a lot of trouble for that Yevkar," is all she said.

"Naturally."

"I still think we should've killed him."

Court mimed a gasp, a clutching at his collar.

"Torture, then?" Markoff continued.

"You're a lunatic, Jasmine."**

The elevator halted, and Court made his way outward, Jasmine offering a mocking little wave.

In the lobby now, and outside the beginnings of a festivity, not quite yet in full preparation, permeated the walls.

He took a deep breath.

Now came the fun part.

~~~ 

On a divan, one hand gripping a plate of Aciubian shad roe canapés, the other on the knee of our favorite rotund and currently well-dressed Yevkar, was Court. 

"So," started the Eternal, watching the other take a cracker from his plate and consume it in whole, "So. Darling. Supernova. You do, ah, you do like the... oh, what's the word? Accommodations?"

Stoker mumbled something before swallowing, then: "Are you kidding me?"

"I don't think so, no."

"It's a figure of speech."

"I see."

"But- uh, yeah, that's a definite yes. I mean... the room's nice. Very nice. And the clothes are..." The Yevkar plucked at the fabric of his newly fitted trousers. "Expensive."

"Oh, all the expenses come, come straight to me, honey. Straight to me."

"I'm very thankful for that," said Stoker, "And the food is... wow. Just, wow."

(To emphasize that, he took another canapé, eating with a face of seeming pleasure that stirred warmth in Court's stomach.)

"You do like your treatment?"

"Definitely. But it all seems... well, a little /much/, to be honest."

Court pursed his lips. "How so?"

"I mean... everything's so awfully nice. It's a lot. Or is that just part of the whole... Special Guest treatment?"

"It's just the treatment. We are so, so very happy to have you here. Court squeezed the other's knee, and saw something twitch in his eyes.

"...Thank you. And just what is this party for, again?"

"Oh, that's easy. It's your... welcoming party, dear. Drink up." He gestured to the deep glass, half-full with bubbling purple liquid, that had been designated to Stoker.

Stoker complied, muttering a thank you for the so-called welcoming party, and only asked one question when he put the glass down, his split eyebrow raised: "It seems I've forgotten: how old are you?"

Court paused mid-reach for his own glass, a little 'error' box appearing in front of his eyes.

Dammit.

"Fifty-four."

~~~ 

With a large stain of greenish gin on his tunic, the Host- and he could call himself that now, his Guest soundly unconscious and thus Court's aura able to roam freely- poured himself another glass of the same liquid, and pulled himself up on a table.

Around him, people, so many people, so much energy and so much magic and so much sensation, their very livelihood swarming around him in colors beyond the human eye. The Host inhaled, feeling them seep into his lungs and in his blood. This was his element, watching over what seemed to him a sport, a game, strategy among the walls and strategy among the people. Feeling and thought...

He drank and he drank.

And then he stepped off, and things were black for him.

The green spread around the broken glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ah hah hah.
> 
> **Says the guy who melts people down and uses them for wall decor.
> 
> More on the party next chapter. And the ~stuff~.


	9. Chapter Nine, in which things happen that are not PG.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party ends, and another one begins. (And another, and another, and another...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, Court's hornier than I remember.

There was a cat, eight-legged and multi-colored, on Stoker's chest.

When the Yevkar stirred, it scurried away, mewing in baritone chirps and disappearing under one of the tables lined with glimmering checkerboard cloth.

Stoker sat up on the settee he found himself on, the steady pounding in his head acting as a vague reminder as to just what precisely had occurred the previous night; in accompaniment to that were bodies sprawled out in his surroundings, waking and gathering their items and scavenging morsels of Artrovian beef jerky from knocked-over bowls.

He swept locks of blue hair from the sides of his face, habitually reached up to assure himself that his earrings were still fastened in his lobes, and swung his legs over the side, surveying the quietly turbulent scene around him.

So there had been a few plates of appetizers; and there had been synthetic jazz that escalated up to bizarrely swinging and pulsating technological rhythm that was almost completely out of his taste; and there had been a grapefruit sized- and shaped- cup of butterscotch-colored liquor, light in its content, in his hand and then his mouth; and there had been a vague passing back-and-forth between people- "Stoker, this is Ma'arvine", "Have you met Darlu yet?, "Here's Eerin, it's xer birthday in three days, want to come to the party?"

And of course there had been Feram himself, ubiquitous and grinning, decorating his presence with little hints to Stoker of things bizarre. There would be a hand on his knee before he knew it, there would be a leer flashed at him from across the party. There would be-

Speak of the devil.

Court, in the flesh, chest bare but for an esoteric wrapping of emerald-colored cloth around his midriff, pushing himself off the ground next to the divan with a deep groan.

"Guten, uh, Guten, Guten Morgen, Liebling," murmured the tippler, pushing unruly hair off his brow, "Wie war deine Nacht, ah, hat dir, dir, dir die Party gefallen?"*

"What?" Stoker blinked, the language not translating within his ears.

Court muttered something inaudible, reaching for his robe- which had ended up strewn on one of the tables. "Good... good morning, darling. How was your night, uh, did you like... the, the party?"

"Oh. Uh, yes, it was..." Stoker was standing, now, watching the taller knelt upon the floor with his hands fumbling to reconnect buttons. "It was fascinating." And all crafted by this outré, currently half-grinning bon vivant that watched him with peripheral vision.

"Goody," replied Court, pushing himself to his feet and now standing in full height, top buttons still undone. He pushed his hair back again- vainly, the Yevkar watched the unruly strands fall back into a salient position- and turned to him, a single eyebrow raised. "Stoker."

"Yes?"

"Welcome to Funale."

\- - - - -

If there was one thing Stoker was sure of, it was that he was being played with.

He had been here six days now; two had passed since his first party, and both following days were equally intemperate, and each twenty-four hours seemed needlessly packed.

And yet he was loving it.

On and off with the strange head of the House, back and forth with the bizarre Court and his filler speech and his muttering Fukisian and his hands that were always holding a drink...

That was something Chaudfroid had taken great note of.

This bizarre toper, fingers constantly clutching a glass, not a drinker like Stoker's father- there was more elegance here, a sort of commonplace dignity to it. And, of course, the fact that Court never seemed drunk. 

There was certainly glass after glass; pink stuff with crackling spheres of something black inside that distorted the color; maroon-colored liquid that was interspersed with something black and viscous that settled at the bottom; bright coral fluid adorned with a green orb that looked uncannily to be an eyeball; multi-colored liqueur that glowed under black light.

He drank as if it benefited vitality, and perhaps it did-

But this was not what he was supposed to be thinking about.

He was supposed to be thinking about how this seemed a very bizarre sort of amusement for the other. 

Questions never answered, passed from occasion to occasion, almost hanging off the arm of Court. Always seated close to, or next to. In the chair adjacent to his, allowing this aging dandy to rub circles on Stoker's knee until the Yevkar was a little less comfortable in his seat; placed directly next to him on a chesterfield with the other's arm around him, reaching up to rub the fine tip of his green ear in a much-too-personal way, one that sent queerly undulating waves of sensation up Stoker's stomach.

A laugh here, a little half-wink there, a look when they were seated across from each other that made the Yevkar sure that he was being undressed mentally, piece by fucking piece.

The worst part, the absolutely wretched part, was that Stoker hadn't objected to it in the slightest, that he liked it. Wanted more of it, even. 

But /was/ it the worst part? He was a smart man, a conniving man, and there was always something to be gained from anything. From a rich man, surrounded in sybaritic comfort...

Like always, his thoughts were interrupted-

And then he was at another damned party on a higher floor, light gently pulsating in shades of sangria and brandy, someone churning out a soft tune of synthesization as people mingled amongst themselves; Stoker was on the balcony with a flute of champagne in his hand.

He did not remember what it was for, but he remembered being invited in that same sweet, low tone of the House's head, and he remembered being outfitted once again with cloth that surely cost more than anything he'd been geared up in before.

Eaten what he could, little balls of dough stuffed with savory cream and gel-like fruit the size of a marble and small slices of meat upon wafer-thin plant leaves.

Nevertheless, here he was, overlooking a town that glowed in erratic spots with neon, listening to voices rise and lower around him.

Once again, feeling an arm around his shoulder, a figure by his side holding a martini glass and smelling faintly of sweet cologne and bitter gin.

"Stoker Chaudfroid! There you are, there you are. Now- you know, I have been looking just, just all over for you," murmured Court, setting the drink down on the balcony railing.

"There's only about fifty people here. It couldn't have taken you that long," deadpanned the Yevkar.

Court laughed. "Ah, you've caught me. Smart man! You're liking, uh, liking the whole affair?"

"I'll say. Food's great."

Another laugh. "I thought you'd like it, dear."

"Now, just what are you insinuating?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, nothing at /all/, supernova, not the slightest thing." Court threw his unoccupied hand up in defense.

It was Stoker's turn to laugh, and he could swear- much to his interest- that something gleamed in the other's eyes at the sound.

"So. Was there... something you wanted to talk about?"

Feram's hand had made its way to the edge of the Yevkar's ear again, gentle and strangely warm to the touch. (An impressive feat for an invoker of fire such as him.**)

"I'd, uh, I'd think so, ja."

"Well? What is it?"

"Let's, mm, let's talk about /you/ again, starlight, see what I know, hm?"

"I don't think you know that much about me."

"Oh, I think I do, dear. I think I do." And Court was nearer him now, voice slightly lowered as he spoke. 

"I know you were raised in the Yevkar section of New Gloxnob. I know your father was a baker and your favorite thing from him was a, a sort of pound cake. I know your magic instructor was also your uncle and your fifth year Common teacher."

"I... how do you know all of this?" There was a vague sensation of panic in Stoker's stomach, but the other was still moving on.

"I know you and your sister- you love her deep down inside, I know that much- spent just an awful lot of time in the, ah, in the casino district of New Gloxnob, after you left your father but not after you left the planet. I know you burned down an abandoned coffee shop, and never told anyone.I know you think the Funalian treasurer is a pompous prick, ah hah... And I know you liked the caviar last night, but hated the prosciutto. Me too, really."

Every word was correct, and the Yevkar grew more and more afraid with every syllable, and yet he was calmed suddenly and strangely by those warm fingers along the line of his jaw, trailing down his neck.

"I know you have two favorite colors, one which is constantly changing. When you, when your got here, it was blue and light green..."

And there was a pause, Court turning to look at him in full view, now-triangular makeup shifting as his mouth did. 

"And now?" Queried Stoker, quiet as could be.

"And now it's blue and a... a very particular shade of teal."

"Where'd you get all this information, might I ask?"

Court laughed. "I'm a people person."

That didn't answer shit.

"What do you intend to do with it?"

Every time one of Stoker's muscles stiffened, those fingers were on him again, and the tension slipped away like it was nothing at all.

"Oh, barely anything at all, supernova. I just want to... draw, oh, what's the word, conclusions. Yes, conclusions."

"Like what?" 

And those fucking hands on him, undoing the first two buttons of Stoker's shirt*** with ease, making something in his stomach writhe.

"Well, ah hah, let's see. I, uh, I know you won't mind if I do this." 

Fingers slipped across his chest, thumb tracing the angles of the Yevkar's collarbone and making a quiet gasp fall from his lips.

Stoker was suddenly less comfortable in his trousers.

Fuck.

"And, mm... I really don't think you'll mind if we, what's the phrase? Take this somewhere else."

Stoker turned his gaze upward to those blackly shining eyes and the smile that curled up in knowledge gained clandestinely.

"I think you're right."

\- - - - -

And he was on the bed belonging to those black eyes, almost panting in recovery from a high he hadn't felt in... was an 'ever' suitable? Perhaps.

Court was on the other side of the room, extinguishing a cigarette in a faux-ormolu ashtray and humming gently to himself. Still bare-chested- and bare-legged- save that odd piece of fabric, teal markings now smudged along his body.

Stoker inhaled the dark smell of the room, rich and foreign, watching the other as he turned back and crawled upon the mattress- so very large and so very confortable- once more.

The Yevkar hissed when he felt a thumb pressing into one of his fresh hickey-bruises, and Court laughed.

"Oh, wunderbar, supernova, Fantastisch," he murmured, and his hands were on Stoker's hips, running his nails over the bone and making him writhe.

Stoker opened his mouth to retort, and was cut off by the other laughing aagin, much too mirthful.

Court leaned down, close to the Yevkar's chest, grin wide. "Welcome to Funale."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Is this accurate German? Probably not. Is it accurate Fukisian? Yes.
> 
> **Explanation for this: Stoker, being a user of fire magic has a higher body temperature, and most people are cold to the touch. If someone feels warm to him, that means they have a very high body temperature- for example, Court, whose heart is... well, a supernova.
> 
> ***Not so much a shirt as a tunic, but we didn't want to say 'top'. You know why.
> 
>  
> 
> More fun coming soon (ish)!


	10. Chapter Ten, in which we get more non-PG and a good deal of thought.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another gentle passing of days, and the fragments that follow; the stairsteps that lead to conflict.  
> AKA, Court's life is falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I blindly typed this out then woke up, here's a brief explanation:  
> -A waterbound talk.  
> -A late-night swim.  
> -A fairly casual conversation in an objectively casual place. (The sex room.)  
> -A moment of retrospection.  
> -A coupling after the thing talked about in the third part.  
> -A failure to disguise oneself.★  
> -A minor confrontation in the morning.  
> -A setup for a major confrontation.
> 
> Some implied sexual content.
> 
> Sorry for being late!

Court was two feet above the bottom of the pool.

Motionless, kept hovering within glitter-stuffed fluid* by the slightest of enchantments, hands clasped over where his swimsuit dipped to cover his midriff.

This was the life.

From above, his sweet little guest resting with his arms on the edge of the pool, green flesh distorted by cyan-tinted water.

"Go on, now, tell me more about your, ah, what was it—aero, uh, aeroplanes," Court coaxed in a pause of silence.

"Airplanes?"

"Ja, ja."

"Well, I've been studying these diagrams from Terra, about... you're listening?"

"Naturally."

"You can hear me from down there?"

"If you can hear me, I can, I can hear you, darling! Go on."

"I'm trying to figure out how the older engines—have you heard of the Wright brothers?"

"Na sicher, of course. Set of mundane with, ah, the idea that they'd made something new. Ohh, what were their names, Wilbur and... Orson?"

"Wilbur and Orville."

"Ah, close enough."

Stoker started back into his talking, words filtering down to Court and resting just in the crest of his ears; it was good to hear someone other than him ramble, but he didn't need a whole seven pamphlets' worth of information about human flight floating around in his—admittedly already packed— skull.

This was how he let things play out, this idle conversation from within the pool; the Eternal watching the legs of his Special Guest kick back and forth and stir up the speckling of the water's glitter.

"And then that became the modern model, and one of the biggest reflections is the Ozean 99 starship... Have you ever seen the engine on that thing?"

Court pinched a particularly large sequin and held it above him, making it coruscate with every turn of his wrist. "I own three."

~~~

So a deal had been made.

Yes, that was the phrasing he was willing to use, a /deal/ was what had settled things like this.

Not an unfamiliar trade for the Host, nothing of the sort. Quite the usual exchange—

The little package at first, the trial run, and then sweeping Guest onto mattress and having him sign a metaphorical 'X' on an imaginary line. Green flesh, decorated with tattoos and stretch marks, in exchange for unit after unit after lavish present after extravagant gift.

The Host, alone for once within Funale's happy darkness—treading water, in the beach's green-hued ocean—laughed to himself.

Money couldn't buy happiness, he knew that.

But. 

The classic Funalian but.

It could be traded ever-so-subtly; and then trade after trade until euphoria reached and the old adage was defeated. Victory! Court laughed, shaking in the water, in his mania.

A loophole, a bug in the system, if you will, just to please the sybarite. Perhaps even a stupid one, but it worked.

He was a silly man, and his analogies were addled by a few martini glasses, four or so.

He plunged.

~~~

Music, the Eternal's own**, streamed down to envelop the two vessels on the floor in a bubble of synthesised harmony.

"You know... Ahh, starlight. There's a... a little celebration tonight. Real festive. The bear dances there and, and all."

"What bear?"

"Figure of speech. Good party, ja?" Court, observing his pretty little foreigner, all of the Yevkar's skin bared to the yellow lighting, ran his thumb across the tattooed flame that licked warm colors into his green hip.

"Your point?"

"You should come."

"You say that about every party."

"Mm, but. /Honey/. Darling. Liebste. This one's, ah, /special/." Tracing the line of fire all the way around Stoker's hip, feeling the ever-softest twitch of muscle as he made his way to the patch of faintly purple-tinted, bluing epidermis around the pelvic bone.

"Special how?" Stoker raised a split eyebrow.

"A... a soiree, of sorts. That's it, a soiree, for..." Pausing, to lift his glass and swallow the marmalade-colored spirit, calm as ever while he watched the Yevkar squirm a little more noticeably.

"Go on. For what?"

"Something I, uh, I think you'll like. You haven't been to the—ohh, what do they call it—the Mechanimalis Races, have you?"

"I have not."

"Do you know much?"

"I can't say I do."

"Marvelous. It's, er... well, what it sounds like—a lot of creatures, made of springs and metal and the lot, all trying to reach the big red line. A race. Like... a Terran derby. You like engines, yes?"

"It's my job."

"But recreationally. I think you'd, mm, enjoy seeing it. Wouldn't kvetch too much, would you, supernova?"

"Complain?" Stoker laughed. "Me?"

Court pursed his lips. "Well?"

"Sure, I'll come. Does high society still serve roe?"

The Eternal laughed, and began to lessen the gap between the Yevkar's legs—

 

~~~

Court believed he might actually be losing this game.

There was... something about the other player—

That was it! Just the thought of this fiery mass of green skin, schlafend wie ein Murmeltier in his bed, as another player and not just a piece in one of Court's games against himself.

Something had... changed. 

A little seed, perhaps, had sprouted, in the bottom of his chest, and the Eternal did not want to think about what it was.

It was his new weak spot, he felt, but was not ready to give it a name.

So he killed it. Drowned it, smothered it, fried it and braised it and served it with sunberry wine.

Forgot about hands pulling him closer on the sofa, green lips connecting with his on the astronomy deck; not even any of his own command, a movement made voluntarily by the other, a /miracle/ that set his blood alight... 

Court poured himself another deep glass of liqueur that gave a carbonated fizz, and downed it whole in the dim lighting of his bedroom.

Don't feel with that so-easily-moved part of his mind, he thought. Just feel with your body and think with your mind. 

His head was spinning in circles. 

What a fucking nightmare.

Perhaps the best he'd ever had!

And a success again, for him, or for who?

"Gute nacht," muttered Court, and he closed the door behind him.

~~~

Back and forth, in and out, he was the tide lapping up against green sand that gave a low moan into the backseat cushion of the vehicle.***

Everything nicely, neatly fractured with the influence of a faceted shard of sapphire-paper**** through his bloodstream; everything gently piecing off as Court bucked his hips forward and ran a finger over Stoker's perineum.

"I... ah, I told you it would be a nice party, didn't I, starlight?"

"Do you /ever/ shut up?" Groaned the Yevkar, head pressing further back into the automobile's seating; his hair had loosened and found itself in strands around his face like some strange sort of blue halo.

"Ohh, rarely, dear, rarely!" And he was laughing, watching this prince-like fellow squirm so as Court moved to spread his legs out just a little more, make Stoker just a little more open. The Funalian way—full exposure, hedonistic baring as the world spun.

Jasmine and Lukas were just outside, and if one turned their ears just right and tried to move their sense of sound away from the sapphire's influence, one could hear them talking.

Something about their spouses. Such nice little employees...

"God, you—fuck!—you're such a dick..." The Yevkar gave a little yelp as his words fell short.

"Mm, that's the, the, the best part about me, I've heard, dear."

"Bug off." Stoker twitched, forehead shining with sweat and eyes shining with prurient mischief.

"Don't make me, uh, don't make me stop this whole thing short."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would," Court half-threatened, watching his Special Guest shudder at the thought of denial, "unless you play nice."

Stoker mimed zipping his lips, and did such, retreating back into a lascivious sprawl. 

That was how it went.

~~~

Every once in a while, Court made a mistake.

And it was just a little slip—perhaps even a good one, throwing another loop of chaotic theory into the formula—but the thought of it still made his skin crawl.

In the darkness of his chambers, right before midnight. 

Careful, careful, cracking open the pill-box and holding his capsules gently. He let the spell drop, like always—

But not, after all, like always. Shame.

Not bit by bit, letting restrictive glamour and binding slowly fall away, but all at once, with a great force that he /knew/ the other, sleeping just yards away, could feel. Power, surging with reckless abandon, and his senses kicking in hopelessly. Court stumbled at the sudden sharpness of enhancement, knocking over a water-glass with a shaking hand.

The Yevkar sat up, and the Host could smell, could taste the fear from exposure to massive energy. "Court? Is that you?" He could see him, even in the almost pitch-blackness, just an outline.

And back with the cover, the great overwhelm of senses reeling into his skull, and his flesh receding into calculated brown. "Yes, dear."

"I thought... Ah, I dunno,I felt something." The words were cautious, hesitant, but the fear, the suspicion, /the accusation/ in his voice was sharp.

"Just a dream, starlight. Go, uh, go back to sleep."

And with a tentative thud, the Yevkar retreated into the mattress.

~~~

Stoker had been here for eight days.

"Ah, up and at it, as they say—Tyr's day again, Dienstag, Mars's day too. Mm, what do you say, darling? No rain, go back to the Mechanimalis, you like that, don't you?"

Court was doing what he was best at—spending his money on his Guests.

It was how he acted fond. A learned habit.

Stoker muttered something against the pillow, incoherent. 

"Mm? Speak up, now, won't you? Supernova?"

"What am I doing here?"

"What?" Court paused from where he was rationing out one of his many capsules from the shelf on the wall.

Stoker rolled over, a smudge of teal makeup still on his neck, gripping the edge of a pitch-black sheet tightly. "Why me?"

The Eternal laughed, watching his lover raise an eyebrow as he tittered. "Now. You always ask such, such strange questions, dear..."

"Don't 'dear' me."

"Fine. Starlight—"

"Come on."

"Alright, alright. A little feisty this morning, aren't you, Mister Stoker Fougue Chaudfroid?"

The Yevkar grunted, and in his momentary silence Court swallowed his scarlet tablet and chased it down with still-fizzing water.

"I just... I feel like there's something I don't know, Court."

Just something?

Oh, but it was so /many/ things, ridiculous in their abundance...

"You're a little, ah, hungover, that's all. Here, I think we have something just for, for, for that..."

"I am not." 

"Ohh, but you did have those three, er, drinks last night... And, uh, and the atmosphere is just a little different up here in, up here in the mornings..."

Stoker gave him a distinct glare, heavily suspicious. He rose from the bed, retrieving a pair of undergarments from the drawer.

"...Whatever. I want those little purple crab things for breakfast again. "

"What, and with caviar too?"

"You bet."

~~~

All victories must be padded with loss in the time of great plush chaos.

So, when his Guest was strange at the breakfast table, Court took it gently. Even if the motions were a little different, a little heavier on the wary.

"You know, Court... I've been thinking."

The Eternal paused, and the hand that gripped his brimming glass began to sweat against his will.

"Do tell."

The sunlight pierced through the windows, warped and purpled.

His hand wavered—

A single drop of liqueur splashed on the table.

"Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

Court looked up, and was greeted with a smile that held secrets. 

What else could he expect?

He raised the glass, one drop less full, and filled his mouth.

A pause, and the other's smile wavered.

He swallowed.

"Why, anything for you. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *They have pools filled with glitter in the Ferox house. This is one of them.
> 
> **For reference, I want you to imagine something vaporwave-y; a cross between 'I Wanna Be Yours' by Arctic Monkeys, and 'Purple Stain' by Red Hot Chili Peppers, but highly technological and hypnotic. What. that doesn't play in /your/ dreams?
> 
> ***Am I getting too purple with the sex imagery? Let me know.
> 
> ****A type of drug. One facet of its recreational use is enhancing sensation—so, uh, sex time.
> 
> ★Spoilers! Duh. Court generally removes all the glamour that makes him what he usually looks like—nice tan and all—in the very late evening, when he takes some of his heavier and more strictly medicinal medication. The aura exuded is massive and a little alarming at first, so he tries to do it slowly and gently; needless to say, he fucks up. Why am I telling you this? Because I suck ass.
> 
> Stay tuned for some wild shit, and also probably sex. Is sex wild shit? Mom?

**Author's Note:**

> Units to US dollars scale: 4.5 Units equal 1 USD.


End file.
